


A Respectful Distance

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Feels, Forgiveness, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Insomnia, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Prompt: imagine bucky wallowing in guilt and shame after coming to live with the avengers post cap2 because he remembers being made to kill tony's parents and tony's been nothing but nice to him which is very confusing until he breaks down one day and shouts at tony and begs him to stop being so nice and hurt him or do something damn it. cue tony comforting him and making him realize that yes even if it is still difficult for him to cope with he knows that it wasn't bucky's fault he was hydra's weapon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">AND: In all the fics I’ve seen, the fact that the winter soldier killed Tony’s parents is not made a big deal of. I’d like to see a drabble where Tony acknowledges that Bucky had no control over his actions, but it still takes him some time to stop seeing Maria’s (and Jarvis’, as the driver) blood on his hands. It would be nice to see that process of healing on both sides.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Respectful Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Почтительное расстояние](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375111) by [Halisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halisa/pseuds/Halisa)



> Originally posted over on [imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/). Be sure to stop on over and also enjoy the amazing contributions of [Potrix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix), [27dragons](http://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons), [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema), and [kamaete](http://kamaete.tumblr.com/)!

He knows from the moment they meet. Steve makes the introduction, and while he smiles, it is only the shifting of muscles beneath the skin. Stark takes his hand, shakes, and Bucky is the only one to see the way his fingers curl in against his palm after their skin is no longer touching. Stark folds his arms across his chest, smiles and smiles, but Bucky notices the way he slides his hand against his sleeve, as if instinctively seeking to remove any lingering reminder of Bucky’s touch.

For his part, he swallows, nods curtly, offers quiet thanks, because they are owed. This man, this strange, flamboyant man has taken a murderer into his home for no reason Bucky can comprehend.

Steve’s hand is warm against his back, and his smile reaches his eyes, but Bucky can feel only cold, and hollow, and ashamed.

+

"I can look at that for you."

He jumps, having not realized he was no longer alone, and curls the bionic hand in question against his chest. Stark is standing a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets, projecting a nonchalance Bucky knows he does not feel.

"Or not," Tony adds, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky licks his lips, shakes his head. The hand has been bothering him off and on for a week now, but the idea of forcing this man to fix it—to fix part of a weapon that was used to murder his parents—is loathsome.

He expects Stark to leave, but he only wanders to the bar, pours a drink, holding the bottle up in offer, quirking his eyebrows by way of invitation. Again, Bucky shakes his head.

"So. Steve says you’re settling in?"

There is an uncomfortable acceleration of his heart, and he attempts to will it into steady compliance. Fails. Hunches his posture, attempting to tuck himself more thoroughly inside of the too large hooded sweatshirt he’s wearing. Stark shouldn’t have to look at him.

"Yes," he answers quietly, although this is a lie. Swallows around the guilt. "Thank you."

Bucky risks looking, finds himself being watched, and it isn’t fair, seeing the ghost of Howard in Tony’s features. Maria is there as well. Bucky has sought out photos of her, his morbid curiosity getting the best of him. Behind his eyes, in Bucky’s mind, she is a broken, bloody thing, ruined and unrecognizable. She was beautiful before, he knows that now, and Tony shares this beauty.

His hand shakes, the one he was born with, and he digs his fingernails into his palms and counts down from ten. As happens often these days, he finds tears obscuring his vision, and so he looks away, hiding behind hair, and fabric.

"I have trouble sleeping," Tony announces.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales shakily. Tony’s voice is far too kind, too inclusive, as if he is concerned, which makes no sense.

"Nightmares, you gotta love ‘em."

His voice is louder, and when Bucky opens his eyes again, he finds Tony standing nearby, watching him. His eyes match the concerned tone in his voice, and it is so very confusing.

"I… Steve." Bucky is having trouble keeping everything from jamming together, words fighting on the way out of his mouth. But Tony is patient, just raises his eyebrows encouragingly, waits. "I’ll… I can leave."

It is strange, the play of emotions on Stark’s face. The offer is tempting to him, although Bucky recognizes the moment he considers and disregards this chance to be rid of a murderer. It is followed by doubt, by shame, by concern, and lastly anger, but oddly enough not directed toward Bucky.

"Why would you leave? Has someone said something, made you feel unwelcome?"

He opens his mouth and a strange, strangled sound comes out, so he clenches his jaw, shakes his head again. He wants to look away, but Tony’s eyes are far too compelling.

"You… I’m giving you nightmares. I shouldn’t… You shouldn’t have to…"

Stark’s eyes widen, and he waves his hands. “Shit, no! I was having nightmares before you showed up, and if you left I’d just have a whole new slew of them, mostly involving Steve killing me for chasing off his best friend.”

He presses his teeth into his lower lip, and hangs his head. “Steve,” he sighs, tries again. “He’s too… He doesn’t understand. What I am.”

"You’re his friend, his brother, which makes you welcome here," Tony says. "He didn’t force me to take you in, if that’s what you’re worried about. I offered."

But that doesn’t make any sense at all. Unless Stark has plans for him? Revenge makes more sense, and the idea of Stark exacting some leaves Bucky hopeful. There should be consequences for actions.

Tony is watching him again, and Bucky cannot bring himself to look away, allows himself to be seen. Hopes Stark understands how much his vengeance would be welcomed.

Only nothing more is said, nothing but, “Reconsider letting me look at that hand, okay?” and then he is alone.

+

At dinner, he keeps his bionic hand in his lap, hunches over his plate, forces small forkfuls of food past lips and teeth.

Eating is a chore. He avoids doing it whenever possible, and prefers plain food if he must eat. Brown rice. Steamed vegetables. Eating meat has been difficult for him, but fish is fine.

There are unfamiliar smells, and everyone else’s plates are colorful, while his is utilitarian.

"Here," Tony says, and he places a delicate looking dumpling on Bucky’s plate. "Try this."

Bucky looks up, shocked. He hadn’t realized Tony had traded seats with Natasha, but he has and now sits beside him, smiling expectantly.

"Don’t worry, there’s no pork or anything inside, just shrimp and veggies."

Anyone else and he would refuse, but this is Tony. Bucky eyes the dumpling suspiciously, lifting it with his chopsticks as if it might explode. He places it in his mouth, and chews slowly.

Flavor explodes across his palate, savory, with just a bit of heat, a touch of sweet as contrast, and so much there he does not recognize. All of it is too good for him; this is the sort of food one gives to a person, it shouldn’t be wasted on the likes of him.

"Good, right?"

Bucky bites into his trembling lip, and looks up. “Yes,” he admits, guiltily.

Tony’s expression has shifted—it’s always a moving target—and when he touches Bucky’s arm, each of them give a little twitch of discomfort. Tony is forcing himself to do something difficult, repellent, and Bucky doesn’t understand  _why_.

"Want another?" Tony asks so quietly that Bucky almost doesn’t hear him over the hammering of his own heart.

He does, of course he does, but he doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worth any of this, and Stark shouldn’t be forced to share his home, let alone his table, or food, company, or touch with him.

Bucky sets his chopsticks aside, pushes his mostly full plate away, and whispers, “No thank you,” before rushing from the table, Steve calling after him.

+

Tony Stark makes no sense. Bucky understands that he judges himself harshly, that at times what he perceives does not necessarily reflect the intentions of those around him. He is quite skilled at turning a positive into a negative.

None of this negates the truth of things, which is that he has caught Stark watching him on more than one occasion with disgust in his eyes. The others watch him with pity, and concern, with understanding and acceptance.

Stark sees the truth of things. And yet…

And yet, he tries harder than any—save Steve—to fold Bucky into their strange, makeshift family. It is  _maddening_.

"Seriously, you’re giving me a complex."

Bucky stops in his tracks, turns slowly. Stark pushes himself away from the glass of the windows, crosses the darkened room, until Bucky can see his eyes.

"What?"

Tony smiles, a true smile, though small, and lacking the confidence normally found shining in his eyes. “Stick around. I won’t bite.”

Bucky does as he’s instructed, returns to his previous spot on the couch, uncomfortable and confused.

Tony watches him, sits beside him, sighs and places his feet on the coffee table. “Can’t sleep?”

"Stopped trying," he admits softly.

Tony sits up some at this. “Really? Everyone needs sleep, Barnes. Believe me, if there was a way around it, I’d have found it by now.”

Bucky laughs, brittle. “It catches up. Eventually.  I just… I won’t go willingly, is all.”

Stark’s breathing shifts at this, and Bucky watches, fascinated, as one of his hands twitches with an aborted move. His fingers drum against the couch cushion between them, then he follows through. His hand is warm against Bucky’s wrist.

"Yeah." His voice is thick with emotion. "I get that."

It is quiet. “Do you?” It sounds angrier than he’d intended. Bucky swallows, shakes his head.

"Yeah," and Tony’s fingers tighten. "You don’t have to sit here, alone in the dark. I keep odd hours, remember? You can always come down to the workshop."

Slowly, his fingers slide down, down, the tips of them brushing against Bucky’s own, and it is so horribly intimate, that he cannot stand it.

Eyes closed, he feels the ache of sleep deprivation deeply, in the very marrow of his bones. There are faces behind his eyelids, in the dark, more every time sleep takes him. He doesn’t know all of their names, but understands he has taken all of their lives.

"Go on," he hears, and shudders back awake.

"Hm?"

Tony isn’t smiling anymore. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up if you need it.”

Bucky thinks this is the moment. He’ll close his eyes, and Stark will make sure they never open again. So he settles down into the cushions, allows sleep to take him, holding Tony’s hand.

But nothing happens, except he opens his eyes hours and hours later, feeling clear headed for the first time in ages.

Tony is still there, watching over him.

+

Three nights later, he goes to the workshop, and Tony is clearly surprised.

"Hey!"

Bucky holds his hand up, halting the kind words before they can come. “Whatever it is… Do it now, before… Steve, he’s hopeful. Sooner would be better.”

"J, kill the music," and the silence sounds loud. Tony’s face is scrunched in confusion as he strides closer. "Okay, back up. What are we talking about?"

Bucky stands straighter. “I’m a murderer.” The blood drains from Tony’s face, and there is anger there, and Bucky is relieved. “I murdered your family.”

Tony’s jaw shifts to the side, his eyes flashing. “I know what happened to my family,” he snaps. “Gotta say, not really in the mood to talk about it.”

"Then do it already!"

"Do what?" Tony shouts.

"Kill me!" Tony’s mouth falls open, his eyes wide. "Or punish me," Bucky adds, weakly. "Just…" and his voice shakes, words struggling to free themselves from his chest, leaving him hollow. He kneels, places his palms against his thighs, tips his head back to expose his throat. "Do it."

Tony, bastard that he is, places his hand atop Bucky’s head. “What the actual fuck?”

Trembling, he can’t hold back the sob, and it tears its way free, echoing oddly in the room. “Howard,” he chokes, “I see him, and Maria, I see them in your face, and your eyes, and when I sleep. I disgust you, and I  _should_ , because…”

Stark moves quickly, has him by the front of his shirt, fabric bunched in his fists, and he shakes Bucky, shakes him hard, his face contorted, and angry. “Shut the fuck up.”

He stares up into wild brown eyes, tears sliding hotly down his face. “Go ahead,” he encourages. “I want you to.  _You_  want to. I’ve seen it in your eyes. It’s okay.”

Tony lets go abruptly, takes several steps away, spinning in a circle while his hands scrub over his face. “What you saw? Wasn’t for you, asshole. It was for HYDRA, for the people that used you.”

Bucky licks his lips, gathering up salty tears, shakes his head. “I’m still the one with blood on his hands.” Tony has his arms wrapped around himself, his chin tucked into his chest, as if he’s trying to protect himself from Bucky’s words. “You’re the only one who sees it.”

“Yes,” he finally admits, looking at Bucky. Tony’s eyes are so very sad, they’re bright, and wounded. “Fine.  _Yes_. At first. It was all I could think about when I looked at you.”

“So why are you nice to me?” Bucky cries. “I don’t deserve it, especially not from you, Tony. Not from you.”

Tony crosses the space between them, and places his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “At first, Bucky, only at first. And then I saw  _you_. Do you think HYDRA shed a single tear for my parents, or Jarvis? Or you? Because what they did to you was worse than what they did to my family. And it was something done  _to_ you. Not by you. Any idiot could see that.”

Bucky shakes his head, focusing on his hands, only looking up when Tony strokes his hair, over and over, pushes it back from his face, and his eyes are so warm, and so kind that he has to look away again.

“I can’t help them,” Tony continues, “but I can help you.” He carefully, slowly slides a hand under Bucky’s chin, so their eyes can meet again, and Bucky cannot breathe, because it’s all there. Tony is telling the  _truth_. “We can help each other. All of us.”

He swallows around the guilt and sorrow. He wants to believe. “Yeah?”

Tony smiles, and it’s like fireworks on the Fourth of July, like all the fancy Christmases he and Steve never had. Like the light at the end of a tunnel. It only grows brighter and brighter as Bucky watches, as he leans into Tony’s touch.

The hands slide from his hair and face to his shoulders as Tony pulls him into a hug. He’s stronger than he looks, and it’s strange, the way he fits against Bucky’s larger frame, fits in a way that does and does not remind him of Steve, of the smaller Steve, fits in a way that isn’t reminiscent of anything at all, is exciting and new and all Tony.

So he reaches, slides his arms around Tony, around and around, careful not to squeeze too hard, but unable to keep from clinging. Tony is solid and unshifting, holds Bucky tight, strokes his back, his hair, pushes into the embrace and says against his ear, “I’d forgive you, but there’s nothing to forgive. None of it was your fault, Bucky.”

Which is when Bucky gives up, and cries, shaking to pieces against Tony. It is a long time before he stops, and Tony cries with him, they cry together, for his family, for all the families of all the people Bucky has been made to kill, for themselves.

Like all things, it ends, but does so gradually, so that they find themselves sitting together on the floor, backs against one of Tony’s workstations, Bucky half curled in Tony’s arms, legs splayed in front of them. They breathe in sync.

He feels different, and in some ways, this is more terrifying than the guilt and sorrow. It will take care and feeding, and he won’t be able to nurture it alone, not the way he was able to with the negativity.

Tony takes his hand, the bionic one, turns it over, examines it, before his flesh and blood fingers slot into place around cool metallic ones.

"So what do you say to me taking a look at this?"

Bucky squeezes Tony’s hand, gently. When he answers, he is smiling. “I say okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was a bummer. Ask for angst, you get angst. Ouch. Why not make yourself feel better by visiting [The Ancient Warrior Bucky-verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/227279), where you can find Indiana Jones-esque adventures, Bucky is happy and hates pants, and Rhodey is the best bro ever?


End file.
